Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I can deal with the universe throwing me curve balls,
I know, but I have to talk to Mrs. Montgomery.
Some snarky comment about me being gay.
- That's not what this is about. - Really?
Have you been working out?
But Ian's a triathlete. He's the poster boy for preppy.
Well, it's only fair. I mean, I was the one who suggested that we buy a used car with a kill switch.
About what? His hair?
So sorry to interrupt. I just got off the phone with Mrs. Potter's housekeeper.
Oh, you know, the usual. Chick flick, popcorn, cosmo quiz, lights out.
No, Alison is in the picture, she clearly didn't take that.
- Last night... - Last night was one of the best nights of my life.
- Hey, where are you? - You look good.
Sounds like she makes dreamcatchers in her kitchen.
What is spirit?
Why am I even talking to you? Just turn around, sketchy.
I'm not proud of it, but that whole August is a blur.
- a lot of people are gonna get hurt. - Is Mrs. Montgomery running a terrorist cell?
Coach Walton, whatever happened between us, it's over now.
Really? It didn't sound that way on the phone.
Look, I'll tell you what.
Like Emily.
Alison's bedroom.
You know, I heard, but I also saw you complete the six-hour dance marathon on Saturday.
- I know it sounds stupid. - No, it doesn't.
All right? It's fine, I'll drive you.
Don't worry, he went to Philly to be with Melissa.
Looks like somebody ate their wheaties this morning.
It's possible.
Because being so into the breast stroke could really end up hurting you.
Stop looking at the eye. Just look at the picture.